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Lord of the Flies

And no, I don’t mean the book. I mean that I am currently the Lord of the Flies and all that entails – except obedience, loyalty or really any other benefits that one might expect to get out of being a lord.

It’s winter here in the Pacific Northwest and normally that means a brief reprieve from most, if not all, fly activity. Not unlike strawberries, they’re more of a warm weather type thing – fortunately that’s where the similarities end. (Also, you’re welcome for drawing that relationship in your minds. Enjoy.) I’ve had some time off recently and been spending much of that at home reading (not writing though because I have ZERO self-discipline). A couple days ago I noticed a massively bulbous fly doing fly shit (whatever that may be) around my place. Naturally I assumed it was there because I’m a dirty little mo-fo and so I took the garbage out and figured the little bastard would die or whatever in a few days.

It did.

I found the body in my bathroom.

And the peasants rejoiced.

A few days went by and I thought nothing more of the fly because, after all, it was a fly and hardly worth a second more of my consideration. That is, until I went into my office. The horror of what awaited me was enough to rival a horror movie from the 50’s.

Blissfully unaware of the danger I was in, completely ignorant of the imminent peril to my person, I went and sat down at my desk and fired up my computer.

It being a sunny day, I gazed out the window in front of me at the beautiful flora surrounding my amazeballs home when movement at the top of the window suddenly caught my attention. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned my gaze upwards and found myself face to face with millions upon millions of fat, bulbous fly bodies!

The INSIDE of the window pane was teeming with writhing, crawling, creeping, bulbous fly bodies. There were so many they were swarming atop one another. Naturally, being the fierce warrior I am, I grabbed my sword and began dispatching my enemy with a swift viciousness, the likes of which have not been seen since the time of Genghis Khan. The only, minor difference being that my weapon was actually a vacuum. But make no mistake! I wielded that bitch with a fiery, bloodthirsty passion. And then, in keeping with my take no prisoners attitude, I vacuumed up a sock to ensure a slow, torturous death for my enemies in the bowels of my fierce weapon of fly destruction.

Actually the sock was an accident. A happy one, but an accident nonetheless. Of course, now I have to figure out how to free the sock so I can eventually use the vacuum for it’s God-given purpose (it’s a Dyson, it’s divine). I’ve decided to let Fenton (my vacuum) stew and think about what he’s done. I mean, he could have just sucked the sock in and left it in blocking the nozzle, but no, the bastard had to be a fucking overachiever and suck the sock god knows where! (hehe dirty) I’ll retrieve the sock when I’m good and ready. Until then, I’ve put a post it note on Fenton to remind myself that I have to free the sock before I can use the vacuum again. I suspect it’s going to be a while.